


Trainwrecking

by technicolorCarbon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Flashbacks, Impermanent Character Death, Memories, Non-Explicit Non-Con, Ouch, SO, a lot a lot, actually it really doesn't even work, attempted suicide, explicit depictions of torture, its his head after the wall busts okay, pain and feels abound, sammoose is hurt a lot basically, so not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technicolorCarbon/pseuds/technicolorCarbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After more than a year in the cage, his little brother has some pretty terrifying demons locked up in that head of his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trainwrecking

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: takes place some time before the very end of season 06, but after the wall has been taken down. AU of sorts; an imagined possibility based on what I know of what I've not seen yet.
> 
> This is my first Supernatural fic, so forgive shoddy characterization. If you have pointers, I'll gladly take them.

Dean really wishes he hadn’t kicked in that friggin’ door.

Lucifer- wearing his old prom suit, Nick- circles brain-Sam like a lion about to feed, and from the way he’s bloodied up, Dean’s not altogether sure that he _isn’t_ about to be devoured.

"Sam, Sam, Sam. You were so cocky a couple days ago. Where _has_ that lip gone?"

Sam’s answer is a barely-contained whimper and a shaky inhalation.

"Fled in the wake of a familiar face, huh?" His features shift, and in a momentary glance, Dean is looking in a mirror. “Lemme take care of you, Sammy. Relax, this won’t hurt."

He flinches against his bonds as Lucifer-Dean caresses a bloody thigh, then digs his nails into an open wound and _tears_ , with a force that makes every muscle in his torso bulge.

Sam’s agonized scream is hoarse and desperate and Dean retches to the side.

"Okay, so I lied. Surprised?" He consinders the strip of skin still attached to his knee and hmph’s in irritation. “Boy, that’s really on there, isn’t it? For things that stick together so stubbornly, you humans are disgustingly easy to break."

He rubs his palm over the exposed muscle, coating himself liberally in blood and examining the glistening digits as he continues. “Your brother held out so _long_ in Alistair’s care, he was almost ready to quit. But then, you two were such a _pain_ in the _ass_ \- I’m sure he could have found it in himself to continue." His nails bite in again, and Dean has to stop himself bolting from Sam’s head like a scared dog. “And then I get my hands on you, down here. All of eternity to take it out of you. And you go and break after 28 days. Tsk, tsk. I must say, Sam,"he continues casually,as if he’s not trying to _destroy_ Dean’s baby brother— he’s tearing muscle from bone, snapping ligaments like nothing and dragging a cruel nail along exposed nerve until Sam chokes on blood from his own raw throat- “I’m disappointed. I expected more from my vessel."

 

**///**

 

He comes across another of the living dead Sams and bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. As if watching his brilliant little brother crawl around in the remnants of his shotgun-blasted head wasn’t enough, he’s also spied on roadkill Sam, chelsea grin Sam, gallows patient Sam, pyromaniac Sam, pancake Sam, and not-so-water-resistant Sam. Now he can add “I was a teenage emo chick" Sam to the list.

If he doesn’t get out of here, he’s going to go mental.

 

**///**

 

Each piece of Winchester has been carefully laid out, joined on the table by nerves alone, and when Lucifer reaches into Sam’s gut and squeezes his stomach, Dean catches sight of a still-beating heart just beyond his wrist.

"You know, I hear stomach acid can dissolve just about anything biological. You’ve got your throat nice and bloody from screaming, right? Let’s see what it does to open wounds."

Sam screams until his vocal chords dissolve in bile akin to car batteries, and then chokes on blood and vomit as the devil guts him alive.

 

**///**

 

He takes a wrong turn while chasing an able-bodied Sam and ends up down memory lane, listening to a phone message he never left for the fifteenth time.

"Listen to me, you blood-sucking _freak_."

"You’re a monster, Sam- a _vampire_."

"There’s no going back."

If it causes Sam anywhere near the amount of pain it causes him, he’s amazed the kid’s still standing. Hearing the equivalent of that message, vice versa, would have knocked Dean to his knees- and kept him there. A Sam slowly closes his cellphone, even as the voicemail starts again (it’s echoing around the chamber of Sam’s mind, and Dean winces.), and the devastation written on his features, carefully schooled into determination, is something Dean recognizes only one other human being on the planet had the power to invoke.

Like father, like son.

_(son of a bitch-)_

 

**///**

 

"Sammy," Dean murmurs, brushing hair back from his face and smearing blood further.

"Dean," he answers urgently, grasping at his shirt and taking a ragged, steadying breath.

"I gotta tell you something, Sammy, so listen up."

He feels ill as Lucifer-not-Dean murmurs to his little brother, but can’t manage to look away. It’s worse than a train wreck.

"You’re a monster," and it’s in that same, gentle, hate-to-break-it-to-you tone he’s used so many times previous. God, he sounds patronizing- but that’s the least of his concerns. “Look at you. Covered in blood, begging to be a demon condom again, anything to end the pain."

Sam chokes, and not-Dean continues mockingly.

"You sound like some two-penny whore— except you’re worse, and you know it. At least prostitutes get paid. You’re just some filthy piece of scum who deserves every bit of crap he gets, aren’t you?"

It’s a rhetorical question, or it is until it isn’t, and he’s ripping out a fistful of chestnut hair, matted with blood, screaming the question until it sears into his mind.

" _Yes!!_ "

"You don’t even deserve to die like one," not-Dean spits, hatred burning in his gaze, “monster’s too good for you. You don’t even warrant a resting place. No one wants you, why would they want your dead body clogging up a spot where someone normal could be buried?" He laughs when all Sam responds with is a feeble head shaking.

"You’re pathetic, you freak."

 

**///**

 

John levels his pistol at twelve-year-old Sam, over and over again, and Dean holds his breath every time until seventeen-year-old Dean opens the door, unaware that his father had just about murdered his baby brother.

Sam claimed distance had lessened the emotional injury of the event, but Dean figures you never really just ‘get over’ your dad trying to kill you, even if it was to ‘cleanse the evil from the family’.

The closer to Real Sam he gets, the less Dean is sure he _wants_ to find him. _This_ is what his brother has to look forward to when he gets back.

 

**///**

 

He’s been close a couple times, but he really does vomit when not-Dean slicks his erection with Sam’s blood and slides home with a grunt. He’s being sickeningly gentle, and Dean realizes why at exactly the same moment that he wonders.

Sam is expecting pain from Lucifer. He’s psyching himself up, bracing for it. It would be merciful to give him what he’s expecting.

His knees wobble when Lucifer smooths Sam’s hair from his face and kisses his forehead. The gesture is more intimate that anything that’s been done, even when not-Dean wriggled his tongue inside his brother’s empty body cavity and caressed his heart, and Sam finally, blessedly, passes out.

Dean comes back to his own body with a scream and a sob, and he won’t even look at Bobby without a fifth of whiskey in him.

"Bobby, I don’t think we _should_ get him out of there."


End file.
